Tough Cookie
by Nolee of Stone Mountain
Summary: An obsessed stalker finally pushes Keladry Mindelan to hire a bodyguard. She did not, however, expect to get Mr. Hottie...namely, Joren Stone-Mountain.
1. The Robber

Um…I liked this idea so I'm putting it back on. I know most of you want an Entwined Destinies update, but my computer crashed and I lost the data on my computer, which includes THIRTEEN pages of a new chapter. You see that?? I had thirteen fuckin pages for an update, and I lost the data. Blame Spyware, darlings.

Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one.

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He slipped behind the door and closed it gently behind him. It was pitch-black, and he feared he would trip over something and wake the occupant up. Quietly reaching in his pocket he withdrew a flashlight. With a small click light flooded the room, and he jerked the beam around swiftly before clicking it off and depositing it back in his pocket. Sweat beaded his forehead and armpits, and he thought he could smell the thick stench of fear.

The cat…where was the cat? _By the sofa_, he thought. He waved his foot in front of him, breathing a little easier when the tip of his toe nudged something warm and furry. There was a shrill meow and the jingle of a bell – presumably the bell hooked onto its collar – as the disgruntled cat trotted off proved him right. He stifled a sneeze. _Damn cat hair_, he thought darkly. _Never knew why Master liked cats so much. Filthy little creatures._

He continued to feel his way along the wall until his hand found a doorknob. With a satisfied grunt he gently shoved it open.

Immediately he figured he had the wrong room. The smell of testosterone and dirty gym shirts was too strong for the room to belong to who he was looking for. He grimaced against another sneeze and looked down, horrified to see cats jingling all over the room.

What the hell is WRONG with these people? his mind screamed as he kicked a cat out of the way. When he reached the side of the bed he peered at the blanket-tangled person sleeping on the bed. What did his master say his "soul-mate" looked like? Brown hair, greenish eyes, strong, tall, full lips, loved cats, loved dogs…

Confused, he halted. He was sure Master said that the love of his life was a girl, but…the person here was a guy. He matched the description, but it couldn't be…Unless he was a hermaphrodite or something – which, he dearly hoped, was not the case – this was a definite, undeniable male. He scratched his head, shrugged, and placed the letter on the bedside table.

When he exited the room, he remembered his Master's other orders_. "Look around, get a good glance at the apartment, because you'll be in there a lot…" _He sighed, but obeyed the orders. He opened a door right next to the one he was in and slipped inside.

His mouth dropped open in dismay. It was another bedroom, also crawling with those despicable jingling creatures. This one, however, was considerably more feminine. It smelled of jasmine and dirty gym shorts. A bra was flung over a chair – he tucked it in his shirt as a token for his Master, who was sure to like it – and a desk next to the bed was littered with papers. Sprawled on the bed was what was definitely a woman. He tiptoed toward her, heart pounding. The fact he may have given the wrong person the letter produced too much adrenaline than necessary.

He stepped on a cat.

The cat shrieked and slashed at his ankle with its claws. It wrapped itself around his leg and sank its tiny sharp fangs in his flesh. He screamed and banged his leg against the bed, his intent to shake the cat off. He succeeded, but the damage was done. The female bolted up, saw him and shrieked. He fled the room.

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"My name? Keladry Mindelan. You got that? _Keladry Mindelan_!"

"I've got that, lady. Now, what's the emergency, Miss Mindelan?"

"Miss? How do you know I wasn't married, huh? You don't need to say something like th – "

"Lady, why the hell are you calling the police?"

"What? Oh, yeah, I was robbed. Well, I think I was. Someone came in my room."

"Robbed?"

"Yes, robbed."

"I'll send someone over there right away. What's your address?"

"Er…I live on 142 Chapel Boulevard, in the new apartment complex, Room 720, fifth floor."

"Thank you. Some officers will be over there right away."

"Whatever."

Click.

Keladry Mindelan tapped the table with her fingernails. She glanced over at Jump, the lean Great Dane stretched out on her bed. Stupid mutt, he had not even woken up.

Neal probably hasn't either, she thought dryly. When her roommate went to sleep, the dumb ass stayed asleep. Oh well, might as well get dressed.

She reached for her bra. Her hand froze in midair.

"You pervert," she whispered. "YOU STOLE MY BRA!"

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I've decided to take a break from Entwined Destinies. I'm kind of discouraged with the whole computer-crash dilemma. ::sigh:: Oh well. Enjoy.


	2. The Letter

Ho-hum. Here I am again. Umm…….I may be putting yet ANOTHER fic up soon. shuffles feet sheepishly I have SO MANY IDEAS!!! Don't blame me….please?

Er….Kel's going to be a, uh, REALLY SLOPPY, LAZY, SNOOTY, BITCHY….BITCH!!!

I'm going to make her so OOC……in fact, I'm going to make sure she didn't even finish college. How's THAT for OOC?

::is insane::

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"Now, do you know what he looked like?"

Keladry glanced carelessly at the tall black woman donned in a police uniform. She was small and plump, with a no-nonsense aura about her - Lalasa, she said in her name was, or Lollipop. Lalasa brushed a thick lock of dark hair out of her stern doe-eyes and waited patiently for her to answer.

"Not particularly," she shrugged, balancing herself precariously on the legs of the weak chair. Nealan Queenscove, her roommate, often warned her that one of these days the chair would break…she never listened to him. Never did.

Lalasa sighed, her mouth pursed in stark frustration, and said through clenched teeth, "Did you see any markings at all?"

A calico cat, Piper, leaped gracefully up onto her mistress's lap, stretching elegantly and prissily resorting to licking its paws. Kel ran slim fingers through the mottled fur absently.

"His eyes were dark," she mused thoughtfully. "I could tell because he was in the moonlight just right. He was dressed in a black tank, too, and I could see a tattoo on his left, no - right arm, up near his shoulder."

"Good girl," the black woman said approvingly, scribbling something down rapidly in her small notepad. "Did you see the shape?"

"It was a dragon," Kel said abruptly as yet another cat (a tabby this time, named Bo) leaped up in her lap. "Or was it an eagle…no, definitely a dragon, because I could see the fire coming out of its nose or mouth or whatever. Unless it was a deformed squirrel, then it was a dragon."

Shaking her head silently, Lalasa scrawled once more in her notepad. She peered at the woman through her lashes, watching as she fiddled with her tiny nose stud and idly ran her fingers along the arching backs of her cats.

"You say there was nothing taken?" a man asked - Detective Merric Hollyrose - curiously as he exited her room.

"I thought that's what he was in here for, but…I looked around, and nothing was taken." She decided not to mention the bra. That was too embarrassing.

The very redheaded detective rested a hand on Neal's doorknob. "Mind if I take a look inside?"

"I wouldn't, but enter at your own risk," Kel said, smiling wryly.

Merric hesitated, staring at her with slight unease. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"It's my roomie's room," she explained. "Neal'll keep on sleeping - that's what he does, eat and sleep and check out _Playboy_ and watch football - but you might want to watch out for Jump-the-Bitch, or just Jump."

"Jump-the-Bitch?" Merric squeaked. "What the hell?"

"Oh, he's harmless enough, unless you wake him up," Kel said offhandedly. "Great Danes don't like being woken up." Jump had gotten up, grumpy and snippy, when the officers arrived, and skulked into Neal's room.

"Er…then, I'll let him sleep," the blue-eyed man mumbled nervously, edging away from the door.

"Oh…too late, Jump's awake," the brunette said.

Merric yelped as the dark demon slipped out of the room. He threw the man a mistrustful glare before plopping gracelessly - and protectively - in front of Kel. She smiled apologetically at Lalasa and Merric while she roughly rubbed his ears.

"Don't mind him," she told them. "He's really just a big teddy bear."

Though he highly doubted that, Merric wisely chose not to reply.

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Later, after the detectives all left and she walked Jump (or rather, Jump walked her), Kel kicked open her best friend's door, wrinkling her nose at the masculine smell, and yelled at the top of her lungs,

"NEAL!! VERALIDAINE SARRASRI IS IN OUR KITCHEN WAITING FOR YOU!!!"

At the sound of the world-known model's name Neal screeched and sat up with a jolt. Kel couldn't resist a grin at the sight of Neal's dopey expression and his disarrayed hair.

"Silly boy. Fell for it again."

It took him precisely thirty-six seconds for his brain to process this, and when it finally clicked his emerald eyes darkened with spite. He tumbled out of bed, stark naked, mumbling obscenities under his breath and shooting dark looks at her as he pulled on jeans and a shirt. She was not the least bit fazed by the cruelly uttered curses nor his nudity. Granted, once you roomed with someone for as long as they had - exactly two years and three months and two weeks today - you sort of threw modesty out the window.

"In the kitchen," she ordered. "Now."

"Yes, Mother," Neal groused, jostling her crankily as he shuffled by.

"Don't snap at me," Kel reprimanded half-heartedly. "I cooked breakfast for you -"

"Please, Kel, you just fixed a bowl of Frosted Flakes," Neal interrupted.

"- and I had a hard time this morning," she continued, ignoring him.

He snickered, cramming a spoonful of soggy flakes in his mouth. "What happened? Forgot how to make coffee?"

Kel glared at him. "I'll have you know, _Nealan_," she sniffed, pointedly using his detested full name, "that a man came into my room last night and robbed me."

The spoon halted midway to his mouth as milk dribbled from the corner of his mouth, his eyes wide in shock. "Ye gods, Kel, are you okay?" Anger blazed. "Did he hurt you? _What the hell happened, woman_?!"

"No, he didn't hurt me," Kel said, noisily pouring Frosted Flakes (the cereal which, Neal noticed with a wince, made her unreasonable and temperamental and horribly hyperactive) into her own bowl.

"Then what did he take?" Neal ushered.

Kel paused dramatically, then said, "My bra."

Neal blinked. "Your _bra_? _Your _bra?"

"Oh shut up, Meathead," she said sulkily.

He shook his fist at the ceiling. "Damn you, cousin of mine, for revealing to her my childish nickname!"

"Shut up, Meathead!" came a muffled reply from the room above them, in which Neal's cousin Domitan Masbolle, a talented architect who sent half his money to six girlfriends who _claim _to be "pregnant", resided. He failed to notice, as was the Masbolle and Queenscove way, that one of the girlfriends had been "pregnant" for about two years.

Hell, it got them money. In fact, Kel had done the same thing several years ago to a handsome hotshot lawyer named Cleon Kennan before he found out about the ruse and sued her for the sort of-stolen money and then some.

Neal dropped his glare from the ceiling to fix it on his younger foster sister. She looked harried and sleepy, and he felt bad for her.

"Why don't you go back to bed, Kel, and I'll do the laundry and wash the dishes and vacuum," he told her kindly.

"Neal, you do all that anyway."

"Good point, but go back to bed anyway."

Kel shrugged. "If you say so."

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When Kel disappeared into her room with Jump-the-Bitch, Neal went into his own, his intent to brush his long hair. Reaching for his brush, his eyes fell upon a letter. His brow furrowed, and he tore it open untidily.

My dearest Keladry,

Oh how I long to touch your beautiful face, to kiss those rose petal lips, to run my fingers through your beautiful thick hair. Alas, I must be content to watch you from afar. Many a day I must be content to look at you through your window and take pictures of you during your daily jog through the park. I know you like admirers - in fact, I know everything you like - so I will not sign my name. Only, I will say that I love you so very much, and that you are the only woman I could ever have. We are soul-mates, my love, even if you do not realize it yet. I hope you like this letter, my sweet, and remember: I'm always watching you, looking out for you, always ready to protect you from those evil aggressive men. Goodbye, my love, for now.

Forever yours,

Your Prince

Neal blinked, once, twice, as a cat entwined its slinky body around his legs.

"Kel," he finally managed to call, "I think you might want to see this…"

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Next chapter - JOREN!!

Er, my computer's crashed, so I'm using my mom's laptop. Her "C" key is kind of loose, so if you spy a word missing a c or something…that's why.

You know what, Kaz? I may put you in this story too… ::evil grin::


	3. The Bodyguard

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Okay, okay. I will TRY to get Kel more…What's the word…IC? I decided to blame her former OOCness on the Frosted Flakes (note in the chapter two Neal mentioned his dear friend got hyper on sugar) I promise, she will be a bit more Kel from now on.

You know what my new favorite name for a boy is? Dante. Isn't that cool? I love, absolutely adore the name Dante. It's so…exotic.

Anyways, I hope you like this chapter (you better, because it has JOREN in it!!)

::twitch twitch:: Which reminds me…oceanspike, Joren is MINE!! MINEMINEMINEMINEMINE!! I married him first!! I screwed him first!! I - okay, enough of that. .;;

Now, for the chappie you've all been waiting for…

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A man stalked down the whitewashed hallways. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides; his ice-cold eyes spit dangerous and malicious sparks. For all his apparent fury he still managed to appear collected and elegant, a quality inherited from his mother's side.

Bursting - gracefully, nonetheless - through the double doors, Joren Stone-Mountain paused and shrewdly scanned the large lobby for whom he was looking for. Raoul Goldenpeak leaned casually against the desk, flirting shamelessly with the secretary, who, by all appearances, was at least twice his senior. The exceedingly large man captured the blue-eyed glare and straightened, grinning handsomely as he made his way toward the younger man and leaving a flustered blue-haired elder in his wake.

"Joren, my boy," Raoul greeted, slapping the pale man on his back. "It's good to see you again. Where've you been keeping yourself?"

"Away," Joren said curtly. "What's the nature of this summons?"

Raoul raised his eyebrows. "My assistant gave you no details?"

"He outlined it," the man replied coolly. "Simply saying that my service was needed for a stalked woman."

"I know I trained him better than that," his superior said dryly. "Damn Lerant, I need to get him over that." He sighed despairingly. "Were you given any names?"

"No."

Raoul threw his hands up in the air, rolling his dark eyes. "The woman's name is Keladry Mindelan. Apparently her roommate - one Nealan Queenscove - received a letter meant for her. In it was enclosed rather disturbing words, stating that she was being watched. I'm figuring either she or her roommate got nervous. So - they hired you."

"Me specifically?"

"They requested one of the top bodyguards in the agency."

"And you pulled me out of retirement for it," Joren finished coldly.

The older man shifted uncomfortably, although his expression remained cordial and pleasant. "Correction. You were never retired, however hard your big head tries to tell you otherwise. You just rose so far up in the ranks, you were only used for the most important matters. There are others better suited for a job like this. I just figured it was time to polish you up some."

"And if I refuse?"

Those black eyes turned cold. "You will be fired from the agency without payment."

Joren blinked. "You can't do that."

"Like hell I can't," Raoul said graciously. "You refused an assignment, given to you by your superior and chief officer? That's a cause for punishment."

Joren remained silent, though his pale blue eyes told a story of hate. "Fine."

"I knew you'd see it my way," Raoul said sweetly. "I have called Miss Keladry, and she will be here with Mister Nealan soon as possible. I have some regulations to set."

Just then, the doors to the lobby leading outside slammed open, and a couple stepped inside, bickering all the while.

The woman appeared to be a cool-headed chick, for all she had a barely noticeable nose ring, and her shoulder-length brown hair was disheveled shamefully. A curtain of ridiculously long, curling lashes hid her eye color. She was not fat, but her built was muscular, and she was tall - just an inch shy of Joren himself. The slim, lanky man was as tall as him, his light brown hair long and waving, his emerald-colored eyes clear without a touch of hazel.

Closer, Joren noticed that the woman's nose was small and delicate, freckles splattered lightly across it, her mouth delightfully full. The man's nose was thin and long, his mouth long and bow-shaped. He was handsome, a real looker that no doubt drew the eye of many a woman…the chick was not another Daine Sarrasri, but she was not a hag.

"I take it you are - " Raoul began.

"- I'm telling you, Conte is the president!"

"He can't be! Conte died in the Immortals War!"

"That was his GRANDFATHER, you stupid dolt!"

"I am not stupid," the woman, presumably Keladry Mindelan, argued. "You're stupider!"

"I am not!" Nealan yelled.

"You are too, you piece of swamp fungus!"

"There's no such thing as that!"

"There is too!"

"Is - "

"Shut up!"

They both quieted, and Joren sighed, grateful for the blessed silence. Before they started to argue again, he continued on. "I take it you are Keladry Mindelan and Nealan Queenscove?"

"Yes," Keladry replied. "And you're Joren Stone-Mountain, right?"

"Yes. I'm your bodyguard."

Raoul cut in. "I called for you today so you can learn the rules. Mister Nealan - "

"Neal."

"Neal," Raoul agreed. "I wanted you to come so you can help us act it all out. You see, I think it best if the stalker did not know Stone-Mountain was a bodyguard. So…we need to give him a disguise. He will act as your boyfriend in public, but will be alert the whole time."

Joren was too stunned to protest, but once the shock wore off he seethed behind a mask that said he knew all about it. He glanced at the Mindelan woman, surprised to find her face carefully blank and tranquil. Neal, however, snorted gleefully and nudged her.

"Look at that, Kel!" he cried sweetly. "You finally have a boyfriend."

Her calm façade dropped as she glared over at him. "I've had boyfriends before."

"Well, that Kennan lawyer. But that ended quick. He sued you. You liked Dom for a while, he liked you, and then you guys just totally drifted away - "

"Neal, shut up, before I post those pictures of you at Josiane's party all over Corus."

"Yes, Mother," he agreed meekly.

"Now," Raoul continued to Keladry, "Stone-Mountain is to make clear that you two are together. Occasionally flirt with someone else, lure the stalker out. Nothing will upset him more than to see his love be used."

Keladry winced.

"But be as devoted as possible. Act like you love her. And Keladry - you have to appear as devoted and loving. Neal can casually mention his roommate has a boyfriend to a couple people, make it known."

The three of them nodded their agreement.

Raoul waved his hand. "You are dismissed."


	4. The Ride

"Damn it, Kel, watch where you're driving!"

"Relax, Neal, it was just a Spidren, not an important car, like a Mushroom or whatever."

"A _what_?!"

"You know…those nice cars. Mushrooms."

"Kel…you dumb ass…they're called _Mustangs_, not _Mushrooms_!"

Joren rubbed his temple wearily, trying hard to block out their ridiculous argument. He had his seat belt strap in a death grip, his knuckles like white pearly buttons. Keladry Mindelan could either not drive, or she was smoking something. Neal must have seen his helpless expression, for he said with a sigh,

"My poor brainless roommate had sugar today. She has some kind of hyperactive reaction to it. Don't mind her."

Truth be told, it was difficult not to. Joren, spending just ten minutes alone with the roommates in their Jeep, found that he rather detested them. Queenscove was a sarcastic man, and Mindelan was a woman who was damn well near perfect at everything (when, he figured, she was not sugar-high).

Although, he figured he needed to at least try to get along with Queenscove. His father was one of the best medical doctors Tortall has ever known, and was, in fact, highly regarded in the eyes of the president and very capable. If he wanted to move up in the world, he figured the best way to do it would be to befriend a national celebrity's eldest son.

Mindelan, however, was of no importance to him, except that she was his client. Joren made it a rule not to get close to a client, for it distracted him, and had never been known to lose a client to ransom or even something so ugly as death, as others in his office are. When he was hired, he committed his soul to the task, but not his heart. And if his commander instructed him to put on a lover's façade - then so mote it be.

His stomach flew up into his throat as the woman in question turned sharply, the tires squealing like butchered pigs, and flew up into the carport underneath the apartment complex. The sour, vile taste of vomit slipped up his throat, and he swallowed it back with a grimace of disgust. Looking closely, one could spot the faintest tinge of light green underneath the fair of his skin. He made a mental note not to permit his client to drive anymore, high or not.

Joren grabbed his two duffel bags, swinging them over his shoulder, and trotted up to Mindelan and Queenscove. They headed for an elevator, his client blissfully silent, her roommate whistling an off-key song. He recognized it as "Wild Girl", a song sung by the soulful country singer, Numair Salmalin. Joren was actually a big fan of country, though everyone seemed to take him for the rock and roll type, or the heavy metal music.

"What floor are you on?" he asked indifferently, joining them on the mechanical device seconds before the silver doors clamped on the space where he had briefly stalled.

"Fifth," Mindelan said, as emotionless as her expression. "Room 720."

Queenscove suddenly stopped whistling, as though he had abruptly come across a significant thought. "We haven't purchased that sofa-bed yet, and our current couch is lumpy and covered with cats. You'll have to bunk with one of us."

Joren blinked.

"He'd have to, anyway," Mindelan murmured glumly, her face turning sullen. "The letter said he was watching me all the time, so I assume that means even when I'm sleeping. If we're going to be together, then we're going to have to act like it all the time. Even while we sleep."

Joren blinked again. So the woman had brains, even when her blood was fueled with ninety-eight percent sugar. Good. It helped to have an intelligent client, instead of some ditzy blond. This way, he would be able to relax a little more.

"Do you like cats?" Mindelan asked as the elevator stopped to accompany more passengers, two men dressed in suits, and a woman just as smart in her more feminine but just as businesslike ensemble.

Spotting his chance, Joren discreetly draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She blinked in confusion before comprehending, then leaned against him casually. One of the men - a gray-eyed redhead - stared at them curiously, especially the blond. Apparently he did not like what he saw, because he looked away with a frown.

"Hate them," he said pleasantly, tucking away the gesture for future use.

He noticed how the roommates exchanged sorrowful glances, and he felt his heart sink.

The elevator halted at the fifth floor, and Queenscove, Mindelan, Joren, and the woman stepped out. She flashed them polite smiles before walking down the corridor, dark hair bouncing on her shoulders, probably trotting off to screw her boss for a bonus or a promotion. He knew the type.

A man was leaning against Room 720, a forlorn expression fixed on his face. He had the morning stubble over his chin, and his dark hair was a mess. He saw them, and his eyes brightened.

"Dom," Mindelan said wearily. "Don't tell me you left your keys in your apartment again."

Dom shuffled his feet sheepishly, his expression boyishly guilty. She sighed, shaking her head in exasperation while Queenscove shoved the silver key in the lock. Immediately a chorus of mews and purrs greeted them.

Joren groaned. What the hell did he get himself into?

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He sat on top of the rooftop, blending in with the hedges grown there, peering through the binoculars. His woman was in the arms of another man - someone who was tall and beautiful with bright pale hair. He narrowed his eyes angrily as he ushered her inside; nobody told his woman what to do.

The grip he had on the rifle tightened. He watched as the brown-haired man - her best friend and roommate - and the dark-haired man - an old flame and nothing more - followed them inside, the latter pausing to coax a fluffy white cat back inside. They were unthreatening, simply his subconscious helpers who would defend his woman from other men.

Then why weren't they protecting her from the new man's wily charms?

He withdrew into the bushes, his glare cold and spiteful. Damn it all…he had given the letter to her, if indirectly. And suddenly she appeared with a man he had never heard her speak of. And he would know - he had recorders fixed on every wall, every phone call tapped.

Something was up, and if it was the last thing he did he was going to find out what.

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Short, I know. But still, it's an update.


	5. The Warning

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I'm working on ED…so don't rush me X.X Anyways, I hope you like this chapter. It'll have a teeny bit of Joren's bodyguard skills in here, since so many people wanted it. Oh, and oceanspike - you write better than me. So NYAH!!

Disclaimer: Bah. You know the fucking drill.

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Keladry slid a cup of steaming black coffee toward Dom, who smiled gratefully at her.

"It's hot," she warned him.

"Yes, Mother," he teased dryly. He took a big gulp and yelped, wincing as it scorched his mouth.

"You should know by now to listen to her," Neal told his cousin, shaking his head. The older man glared at him.

"Meathead, you're just jealous because I'm not a virgin," he snapped haughtily.

"What does that have to do with - hey, I'm not a virgin!"

While the cousins started bickering back and forth, Joren leaned toward Kel and murmured, "Who is he?"

"That's Domitan Masbolle," she explained. He declined her offer of coffee. "He lives in the floor above us. He's a famous architect."

"Ah," the blond said, his thoughts already drifting away to the redhead in the elevator. "Do you know that redhead we saw in the elevator?"

"What red - oh, that's Cleon Kennan. He's a lawyer, and my old boyfriend."

"He was your only boyfriend," Neal muttered.

Dom hit him outside the head. "What about me?"

"You were just some crackpot she took up from the streets!"

Thus continued the argument. Kel watched them with a half smile on her lips, while Joren resisted the urge to twitch uncontrollably. Just then, Dom blinked and looked at the blond with wide eyes as thought just seeing him for the first time. "Hey…who the hell are you?"

"Goddess, protect me from the fools of the world," Neal begged the ceiling. Dom gave him an odd look, edged away from him, and looked back to Kel and Joren.

Sorely tempted to reveal to Dom the truth, for he could surely be trusted, Kel nonetheless replied with a strained, loving smile in Joren's direction. "This is my new boyfriend, Joren Stone-M - "

"Joren Stone," Joren said shortly, taking the dark-haired man's outstretched hand, shooting a warning glance in her direction. Damn girl, didn't she know not to reveal his whole identity? He couldn't tell if she understood or not, because that peculiar impassive mask had slipped over her features once more.

"Pleased to meet you," Dom said politely, inclining his head. "I'm Domitan Masbolle. Call me Dom."

Joren stretched his lips into something resembling a smile, but it felt thin and fake. That was probably because he never really smiled much.

"A pleasure."

Neal blinked. "My, aren't we happy posies today."

Dom stared at him. "Happy _what_?"

His cousin blushed. "I read it in a book." When he was continued to be stared at his threw his arms open defensively. "What?"

"Never mind. Just…never mind."

A cat leaped up on Joren's lap. He stared into its yellow orbs for a second, then shoved it off his lap, only to be replaced by another. He blinked in alarm, and shoved the little calico off his lap. A long-haired, flat-faced cat jumped up. This one, when he tried to push it off, dug its claws into his leg and glared at him defiantly.

"That's Gigi," Kel said apologetically, restraining a smile. "She's spoiled rotten."

"She's fat," Joren said, taking in the furry rolls. "My gods, she looks like a goddamn butterball."

"Thank you," Neal grumbled. "Somebody agrees with me."

"It's mostly her hair," Kel said in defense of her cat.

"Uh…Yeah, sure, you believe that, Kel."

Kel glared fiercely at him, before gathering her lump kitty from Joren in her arms and marching off into the kitchen. Neal shook his head. "She's usually not so…verbally contradicting."

"She had sugar, didn't she," Dom asked dryly.

"Unfortunately."

Dom looked at Joren. "Most of the time she doesn't even speak. She's a very quiet person."

From the kitchen they heard disgruntled mumbled, "Quiet? I'll show them quiet, the little - "

"When she's not sugar high. Then you can't shut her up."

"So most of the time she does whatever you tell her to do?" Joren asked.

Neal snorted. "Gods, no," he chuckled. "She just doesn't say she's not going to do it."

Kel reentered the living room, this time empty-handed, but being followed by a sleek, mean-looking dog. Joren raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

A crash - the sound of break glass - exploded the comfortable silence. Reacting immediately, Joren lunged for Kel and shoved her below him, his body completely covering hers as glass sprayed around the room. One shard sliced his cheek; another cut Kel's exposed arm. Something thumped heavily on the coffee table, splintering the weak wood. With a quiet, hissed order for them to stay down, Joren slowly crawled toward the table.

It was a brick, with a note attached to it. Slipping it out of the strings that tied it to the brick, he carefully unfolded it, noting the block letters that were probably cut out of a magazine, and read out loud.

"_I know what you want. My woman may not know who you really are, but I do. Watch your back, because I'll shoot you in it quicker than you can blink. And if you refuse to acknowledge this note, I'll shoot her too. If I can't have her, then nobody can_."

-----

::shudder:: Creepy…tee hee, R/R!!


	6. The Bed

I have 72 reviews for just 5 chapters. I'm…proud? Yes, proud. Brimming with arrogance. Hopefully, by the time I finish this, I'll be well over a hundred…this is by far what I think is my best fic. Or maybe Entwined Destinies, but that's only 'cause that plot is original…oh well, who cares?

**-----**

The note shook Neal to the core. From the grim but otherwise impassive expressions on Kel and Joren's faces, he figured it shook them too. Domitan had tactfully left them alone, with a quiet promise from his cousin that all would be explained later, and until then not to breathe a word of the incident.

"Looks like Mister Stalker means business," Joren told his charge coldly. Her only reply was a curt nod. Her features were set into a bland mask, but he noticed her complexion was white and her lips were pinched.

"What a possessive maniac," Neal muttered. He lay a warm hand on his best friend's shoulder.

Kel patted it absently, taking comfort in the familiarity of it.

"Such a pity it's in block letters," Joren murmured. "If it was in handwriting, I could recognize it." He crumpled it into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder. "Worthless, then."

"Hey! Stop it! We could have gotten fingerprints from it!"

The blond had the rude gall to laugh in her face. "Spare me. Those crime ingrates couldn't find their way out of a room with only one door. What makes you think they could find someone based on their fingerprints? Especially – and this is what I think – if they were a first time offender? It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out their value."

Kel glared at him. "Have you a grudge against the crime investigators, then?" she asked tersely. "Because only a fool would believe that tirade of yours."

Those pale eyes became two chips of blue ice as he leaned toward her. "Stick to ground you know, Mindelan. Leave the transgressions to me."

To his immense surprise, those foolishly long lashes brushed against him when she blinked. Either he was closer than he thought he was, or her eyelashes were in desperate need of a trim. Joren straightened, gave her one final threatening glare, and began to rummage around in his duffel bags.

Neal's voice was soft and teasing in her ear. "He looked close enough to kiss you." His grin was wide and jaw aching when she gagged. It only intensified when Joren shot them a look.

"Don't insult me," she hissed sternly, but her eyes smiled at him.

"Yes, Mother," Neal agreed amiably.

"Don't call me Mother."

"Yes, milady," he said, using his childhood nickname for her.

"Don't call me that either."

"Yes, ma'am."

"NEAL!"

Joren twitched. "_Will you shut up_?"

-----

"What's your occupation?"

Kel blinked, startled, and turned to look at Joren from where she sat on the couch with Neal. It was the first time he had spoken to her since earlier that day, with the note. His abrupt interest in her put her on immediate guard.

"I'm a waitress at the Dancing Dove, and a part-time instructor at the gym." She eyed him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because people will be wondering how I ended up with someone like you."

Before her easygoing temper could flare, Neal twisted around to scowl at Joren. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"Use your imagination," the man said coolly before settling his gaze back on Kel. "Is it that woman's gym downtown you work in? And how the hell did you get there?"

"No," Kel said, annoyed. "It's the Knights Gym."

Joren raised his wheat-colored eyebrows. The gyms in Corus were specifically designed to train men for the yearly competitions with other countries. It was a sport for the male species, until that little tart Alanna decided _she_ wanted to participate in the games. Joren shuddered just thinking about it. He himself had been watching the events when that redheaded bitch, disguised as her brother Alan, bounced out onto the basketball court. A little tussle with another player and there she was, male no longer, uniform wide open to reveal – ugh – a woman's chest. Since Alanna, as her name turned out to be, was close friends with President Jonathan Conte, he opened a different gym for women.

"How'd you get into the men's gym?" he asked scornfully.

"The Lady Knights Gym is not as challenging," Kel replied, frowning at him. "I voiced my complaints to both gyms, and so they made me a Knight."

"I'm surprised you haven't heard of her," Neal said, thrusting a handful of popcorn in his mouth. "Almost everybody has." He shot her a sly look. "Everyone knows how much Alanna favors her."

The tips of Kel's ears turned pink. "Shut up."

"As you wish, milady."

Her eye twitched. "I am not in the mood for this."

Joren thought for a moment. After he learned of the newly built Lady Knights, he stopped listening for news about them completely. In his way of thinking, it was strictly a man's sport, and no amount of femininity would change that.

"Is that how you two met?" he asked.

Neal nodded enthusiastically. "I showed her the ropes, and before long she had put every boy to shame."

That would explain her muscular structure. "And you retired?"

"I wasn't about to continue, gods help me, and I knew I couldn't live in this cruel world on my own…"

"So you pulled me out along with you."

Joren stifled an exaggerated sigh. He asked a simple question and got their whole life story. Damn progressives.

-----

"Have fun," Neal sang, before taking Jump with him inside his room and shutting the door with a suggestive wink.

Kel bared her teeth at her roommate's door, pointedly not looking at Joren. For the first time that day he felt like smiling, especially at the sight of her pink face and indirect gaze.

"Well…looks like we get to go to bed," she said stupidly.

"I suppose so."

"Yeah."

"Mm-hm."

The sighed in unison, glanced at each other, and looked away quickly. After a short pause they filed into Kel's room, Joren shouldering a large duffel bag.

In the small bathroom they would now share they brushed their teeth, shooting furtive glances at each other and irritably elbowing each other when they got in the way. Kel spat a huge glob of toothpaste in the sink and watched Joren do the same. For a moment they stared at each other, then marched back out into her room. Joren grabbed clothes from his bag, shot a quick glance at Kel, and practically ran back into the bathroom, slamming the door. Neal pounded on the wall and yelled at them to "kindly keep the volume down."

While Joren changed, Kel snatched at a tank top and drawstring pants, literally leaping into them in her frantic haste to be clothed before he came out. He gave her a little time before cautiously peering out.

Kel rubbed her bare arms self-consciously, while Joren twiddled his thumbs idly, pretending to be totally unaware of his bare chest. Both did their best to stare at everything except the other or the bed, but their gazes were always drawn to either one. Finally Kel sighed and edged toward the bed. Joren followed her on the other side. Both of them noticed how small the bed was, although it seemed fairly big when they first entered the room.

"So…" Joren drawled in an attempt to keep his anxiety at bay. It didn't work.

"Want to sleep?"

"I guess."

The conversation sounded ludicrous even to them. Kel decided to make it easier to point out, "We need to act casual so that the stalker gets the right idea, in case he's…he's watching."

That snapped Joren back on track. "Right." With amazing and rather irksome intimacy he leaped on the bed, slipping under the covers comfortably before looking expectantly at Kel. She edged closer to it, before sitting delicately on the side, and then stiffly laying back.

She got back up.

Joren blinked. "What?"

"You're on the wrong side."

Joren blinked again. "I beg your pardon?"

"I need to sleep on the right side."

"You will be."

"I mean facing the door. When you stand up and face the bed, you're on the left. But sleeping, I'm on the left."

"What the hell does it matter," the blond managed through gritted teeth. "It's just a bed."

"But it's my bed," Kel interjected.

"Fine," Joren shouted, and rolled over.

"Thank you."

He grunted as she crawled over him and landed with a thump on the right side. Almost immediately she gathered the covers up against her. Joren twitched and grabbed them, pulling them back over him. He heard her let out a small frustrated noise, and the covers were jerked back toward her.

Joren sighed. This was going to be a long night.

-----

**Wow. This is a long update for me. Muaha. R/R!!**                  


	7. The Situation

It was the worst night, well, morning, of Keladry's ever-loving life.

Somehow, during her and Joren's nighttime struggle – in which they fell asleep, but somehow, in their unconscious state of mind, continued to play tug-of-war - with the blankets, the covers had tumbled off the bed. Neither one's mind noticed it, as they were both safe and arguing in dreamland, but their bodies certainly did, and that was the only logical reason that Kel could think of when she woke up the next morning pressed up against Joren's bare, naked, muscular chest.

Kel inhaled, and exhaled, slowly, fighting to keep her cool. She carefully tried to slip her arms out of his embrace, but _his_ arms tightened instinctively. She twitched, then tried once more to calm down. Her Mask overcame her features as she repeatedly told herself she was a lake, a smooth, peaceful lake. Kel wiggled a little, thinking to worm her way down out of his arms, but she found it was to no avail. She gritted her teeth, determined not to have him waken and see her predicament. That was all she needed, humiliation to add to her discomfort.

Just then, Joren yawned and mumbled something. She stiffened in alarm, but she relaxed once he settled back down. Then he rolled over on top of her. Before she could stop it, a squeak was squeezed out of her. And as far as she was concerned, it was the only sound that she could utter.

Her face was pressed against his chest now, right up against the breastbone. At least he doesn't have chest hair, she thought wildly. She wondered if he shaved his chest. It was the only explanation for his smooth, muscle-rippling torso. He smelled good, kind of like chocolate. That's _exactly_ what he smelled like, now that she thought about it. Was it his cologne? His soap? Was it his natural scent?

Dear gods, what do _I_ smell like?

Kel had taken a bath yesterday morning. Wait – no she hadn't, because she had washed her hair the night before. The only reason she hadn't taken a bath yesterday was because washing hair straight in a row every night wasn't good for it. She realized she was rambling, but couldn't help it. She probably reeked with sweat. With a sinking heart, she prayed to the gods that Joren would not wake up. She squeaked for mercy.

-----

Damn, she smelled good. Like…vanilla, or something.

Joren heard Mindelan let out another squeak and fought back a grin. This was so much fun, torturing her like this. He woke up immediately – as he was trained – when she had shifted just a little bit. He pretended to sleep through her quietly frantic attempts to untangle herself from him. Then, curious as to what he would do, he rolled on top of her and squashed her. Such entertainment it was to hear the composed little bitch squeak like a mouse.

To make her even madder and uncomfortable, Joren stretched and, as though heavily sleeping and exhausted, collapsed completely on top of her. This time, he could not resist a smile. She must have felt his lips curve, because she let out something resembling an angry rasp.

"Hmm?" he murmured drowsily.

"Gerroffmehyaliddlefeg."

Joren took that to mean "Get off me, you little fag" and shifted off her. Mindelan glared at him before he realized her thighs were still between his, and that his shifting had brought her night pants down her hips a little more than his eyes needed to see.

It BURNS, his mind screamed. He could see his brain sprout legs and run around his head, finally crashing into his skull. Images of a blue thong danced merrily around his head even as several mini-Joren firefighters tried to extinguish the thought.

He twitched.

Neal walked in.

An awkward silence proceeds.

Neal blinked.

"Er…"

Five Minutes Later 

"Er…"

Five Minutes Later 

"Er…"

Five – 

"Give it a rest, already, would you?!" Joren yelled. "It's just a misunderstanding, that's all."

"Um…yeah," Neal said, flicking his eyes to their thighs and back to their red faces. "If you say so."

He backed out of the room, his arched brows raised so high they disappeared in his straggly hair, and closed the door.

"You stupid son of a –"

"This is all your fault –"

"_My_ fault? _You're_ the one who was on top of me –"

"Like you didn't like it – "

Thus began a new day.

-----****

**I'm so sorry it's so short, but I decided to write about the day in the next chapter. I'm hoping for Joren to use his impressive bodyguard skills quite often in there. Anyway, R/R, please! **


	8. The Old Hag

Yeah, a new day began all right.

"Godsdamn it, woman! Watch where you're driving!"

"Hey, _you're _the one who wanted to go to the Waffle House for breakfast, so shut up!"

"I have an idea - why don't you _both _shut up?"

"You shut up, Stone-Mountain, you impotent little -"

"Impotent?! You're calling _me IMPOTENT_?! You're one to talk, my gods!"

"You guys, can't we work this out?"

"Keep your eyes on the road, Mindelan!"

"Okay, okay. Don't be so touchy."

"_Touchy_? Just because I want to live doesn't mean I'm _tou _-"

"Ah, shut up, Stone-Mountain."

"Queenscove, don't tell me to shut up."

"I just did, you nitwit."

"Queenscove, I'm warning you -"

"Ooh, I'm so scared, look at my knees shake."

"Come over here and I'll give your knees something to shake about, you stupid sonofa -"

"Boys, watch your language!"

"Why don't you take your 'language' and shove it up your -"

"Hey! Don't talk to Kel like that!"

"I don't need your help, Neal!"

"Yeah, Queenscove, so take your 'help' and shove it up your -"

"IS THE WHOLE WORLD AGAINST ME???"

-----

Keladry sighed and sat back in the seat of the booth, her palms warmed by the steaming coffee cup. Whereas hers was heaped with fresh milk and white sugar, Joren's was black, no sweetening whatsoever. Just…black. She shuddered involuntarily and took a timid sip, scorching her tongue. Neal was laying his charms a bit too thick on the teenaged chesty blond waitress, who nonetheless giggled and batted her eyelashes flirtatiously. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and took another tentative singeing nip of coffee. Joren chugged his down without a flinch, although his had to be as hot as hers.

Neither one of them had looked the other in the eye since the incident that morning. In his oh so subtle way, Neal had teased them mercilessly about it until Joren had held him at gunpoint and threatened him with every name in the book.

The heavy-eyed woman at the register reached over and clicked on the radio, a man's drawling country accent blasted out of it.

"Numair," Kel said. "He's, like, my all-time favorite singer."

"Mine too," Joren agreed. He noted her surprised expression and bared his teeth in what was supposed to be a grin. "I love country."

"You don't –"

"Seem like the type?" he offered. "Yeah, I know."

_Maybe I can start a conversation with him_, she thought. Although she did not really like him too much – he was an arrogant bastard, however beautiful he may seem – she thought it appropriate if they at least were comfortable with each other…though the awkward situation did not help matters too much.

"What's your favorite song?" she asked, her voice cautious.

Joren replied quite civilly. "Wild Girl, I'd say. Although it's kind of tied with Temptation Lake."

"Wild Girl's my favorite. Temptation Lake is okay, but I like Born Free better."

"Ugh, I hate Born Free. Did you know Wild Girl is dedicated to the model, Daine Sarrasri?"

Kel blinked. "Are you serious?"

He smirked. "Don't tell me you don't know. Numair and Daine have been dating for awhile."

"But…he's so much _older_," she blustered weakly.

Joren's answer was cut off when the woman at the counter barked, "Loey! Stop flirtin' and get to yer other customers!"

The waitress, Loey, jumped, blushing prettily, and murmured, "I'm sorry, miss."

"I don't care if yer sorry, just get workin'!"

"Yes, miss."

The woman at the counter shook her head, reddish brown hair flying everywhere from underneath the kerchief that bound the strands.

"Don't blame the girl," Neal called. "I was keeping her."

"She coulda left you," the woman snapped. She looked vaguely familiar to Kel.

"Fanche," she said, shocked.

Dark eyes flew from Neal to her, and crinkled into a smile. "Well, I be damned. Keladry, how are ya?"

Grinning, Kel slid out from the booth and hurried to the bar, hopping on a stool. She was barely aware of Joren joining her at her elbow. Fanche Weir had been her boss when she worked at the Waffle House five years ago. She hadn't seen her since then, when she switched colleges to go to Corus University across the city. At first they had been wary of each other – there was a major personality clash, you could say – but eventually they became friends, after they learned the other's flaws, and their friendship had been sturdy enough for two women whose difference in age was big enough to swallow Giantkiller.

"I'm fine," Kel said. "How are you?"

"Never been better," Fanche said. Her brown eyes twinkled warmly. "Saefas proposed."

"Finally," her friend laughed. "I was wondering when he'd get to it. Has the wedding already passed?"

"Unfortunately. It was a couple months ago. I tried to send you an invitation, but I never found your new address."

"Well…at least I know what happened," Kel said, disappointed. Her gaze flew to Loey. "That can_not_ be Loesia. She's grown so much."

"Aye, she's sixteen now." Fanche smiled. "She's a good 'nuff girl."

"What happened to Gydo?" Kel asked.

"Got married," the older woman replied. "Her brother Meech took off for parts unknown."

Joren nudged her sharply. Kel understood. "Fanche, this is Joren Stone-M…Stone. He's my…boyfriend. Joren, this is Fanche Ploughman. She used to be my boss a while back."

"How do you do, Miss Ploughman?" Joren greeted politely.

"Just Fanche," she waved. "Miss Ploughman makes me feel old."

"Fanche," he agreed. "It's nice to meet you."

"And you," the older woman countered courteously. She reached over and gently pinched Kel's nose. "This chit was like a daughter to me in the two years she worked for me. You take good care of her."

"Yes, ma'am," Joren smiled through clenched teeth.

"What a sweetie," Fanche chortled, patting his cheek. "You've really picked a looker." She leaned over and whispered something in her "daughter's" ear; whatever it was made Kel glance at Joren and look away quickly, blushing furiously.

"What did she say," he asked her in a low voice when the woman was interrupted by another customer. Kel shook her head, her face tomato-red now.

"Come on," Neal muttered. "The old hag scared the pretty blond away. No point in staying."

"You shouldn't have been flirting with Loey anyway," Kel remarked dryly.

He perked up. "You know the girl?"

"Loesia. She's fifteen. She's Fanche's foster daughter. Me and her were good friends five years back, when I was seventeen. She was nowhere near as pretty then though; then she had pigtails, braces, freckles, glasses, you name it."

"Who's Fanche?"

"The old hag," Fanche said coldly, tossing him the bill.

Neal smiled weakly. "Oh."

-----

"I thought you worked," Joren commented.

"It's my day off," Mindelan retorted.

"It's the first one she's taken off in two years," Queenscove told him, taking a right on Fresh Pond Street. "And she did it for you, too."

"Shut up, Neal," she said, reaching over and jerking the wheel. The car swerved sharply to the left, almost crashing into an oncoming truck.

"Shit, Keladry!" Queenscove gasped. "You near 'bout gave me a fuckin' heart attack!"

Joren forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat, leaning his blond head against the window, hands twitching spasmodically. Later he supposed it was good his client had done that; if he hadn't propped up against the window he never would have seen that flash of silver.

"Get down!" he screamed, lunging for his main priority: Keladry Mindelan.

Queenscove yelled and jerked at the wheel, sending the car veering off the road into the ditch. The bullet pierced the rear window. Shards of sharp glass spewed into the car, slicing furiously at the soft upholstery. Joren felt the splinters shower his back. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Queenscove slip under the steering wheel, into the small cave where the breaks and acceleration were placed. Mindelan made a small sound deep in her throat, the kind a wildcat makes when it's caught in a trap.

Another bullet shattered the window, this time the passenger's side where Mindelan and Joren were squished. He _knew_ it was a bad idea for her to be up front, out of his reach! When another sharp retort was heard, he shoved Mindelan in the hollow in front of the seat, an identical indention to the one Queenscove hid in. Glass cut the back of his exposed neck and arms. Blood stained the seats like red wine.

After four or five more shots, there was silence. Tense silence. Joren removed the gun from the holster strapped around his waist, hidden expertly from prying eyes, and cautiously peered over the jagged window. Just in time to see someone disappear into the woods.

When five minutes passed Joren murmured, "All's clear."

The green-eyed man reluctantly poked his head out from the little cave he resided in, face white as a sheet, mouth trembling, eyes wide and stark. Mindelan, shuddering, stood up, stooping slightly. Her eyes darted out the window tentatively. Her gaze returned to Joren and her eyes widened to enormous proportions.

"Joren," she gasped. "You're covered in blood…we've got to get you to a hospital."

"Why?" he said.

"You're white as death," she snapped. "And glass cuts tend to shed more blood than any other."

"So?"

There seemed to be two Mindelans. Great, his mind grumbled. Like I haven't put up with enough shit these last forty-two hours…

"We'll take him to my father," Queenscove said, though his voice sounded far away. Joren groaned and shook his head.

"I have a first-aid kit back at the apartment," he grimaced with a gasp.

"That's not going to be enough for all of it," Mindelan protested, gently wiping stray blood from his face with the hem of her shirt.

"Find something," Joren snapped. "Do I have to tell you everything? Honestly, Queenscove. You should know better, you being a doctor's son."

Queenscove glared at him. "You crabby old –"

"Neal! Get something!" Mindelan ordered.

"Right."

While Queenscove rummaged around in the back of car, gingerly clearing glass out of the way, as he searched for something to use as a bandage. Joren peered at Mindelan from under half-closed eyes. She seemed debating with herself, biting her lip and furrowing her brow. Finally she sighed, glanced at the empty-handed Queenscove, and started unbuttoning her shirt. His eyes widened.

"Mindelan…I know you want to make my last moments in consciousness comfortable, but…this is too much."

She glared at him. "I'm going to bandage you, not…not…"

"Strip for him?" Queenscove offered, quickly turning back to his task when her scowl was sent his way.

Joren kept his reverted his gaze away when she lifted up her shirt, but not before he saw the crest of her breasts. He shuddered. _It was enough that I had seen her blue thong, but to see her near-naked breast…and she was wearing those strapless bras too, and…why the hell am I thinking about that? Stop…it's too…horrible…_

 With careful fingers, Mindelan ripped her shirts to shreds, carefully binding the worst of the slashes with the strips of cloth.

"You're probably just making it worse," Joren snapped. "All those threads that could get caught in the cuts…And for Mithros' Sake, Mindelan, don't leave your head up for everybody to use as target practice…"

The temptation was too much to resist. Joren later just blamed it on his lapse into unconsciousness. He snuck a peek at her barely clothed chest. He had seen better, but she was altogether quite pleasing. His gaze roamed down to her long, fairly shapely legs, up to her wide hips and flat stomach, back up to her breasts, up to slender neck, to her delightfully full lips, to her small delicate nose, up to her dreamy eyes, which were focused on him…__

_Oh shit._

_Quick, act like it's just a joke_! his mind screamed frantically.

"Not bad, Mindelan," Joren smirked, grinning wolfishly at the sight of her slightly reddening cheeks. _Ah, mind games…what fun_!

After a couple seconds she returned to her job, but her fingers were a bit clumsier. Joren closed his eyes as her hands moved up his arms, where most of the damage was done.

"Is he conscious?" Queenscove asked.

No, you ninny. I died.

"I guess not."

"What did the old hag tell you?" he asked curiously. "You know, back at the diner, when you got all embarrassed?"

She paused in the bandaging, as though considering. Or maybe just making sure Joren was not awake.

"She said…" Joren resisted a snort. He could hear the blush in her voice, although he was certain he would not have been able to see it. She was good at covering her emotions, he had learned. "She said…'it's obvious how much you're getting, Kel, with a fuck-machine the size of that…"

His lips twitched. He knew she saw it, especially when she tightened a bandage unnecessarily. Joren opened one eye, and met her reproachful gaze. He grinned cheerfully.    

-----****

**Hmm…the link didn't show up. Anyways, I'm under the same name over at fictionpress. The link is on my profile. Please, I'm BEGGING you, READ THE FUCKIN STORIES!!!**

**So please, please, PLEASE read it…PLEASE. Just ONE. I'm begging you. As one of your favorite authors, do this for me. I'm begging from the bottom of my heart. Please.**


	9. The Call

**OMG!! ::chokes, gasps:: I have…122 reviews!! FOR JUST EIGHT CHAPTERS!!!**

**I'm telling you…I'm fuckin happy…**

**And for those of you who think I've got so many reviews because I'm a good writer ::cough oceanspike cough:: it doesn't. I just have a tendency to get people to advertise my stories. Like…Death Goddess Assassin. And Kassi helps…she has me on her profile…and so does oceanspike…although oceanspike insults me most of the time…hmm…okay, that's enough rambling…**

**Um…I edited the last chapter, at the end, so it has a bit where Joren gets a good glance at Kel's part-naked breasts and he doesn't faint. And the link to fictionpress won't show up on here. So you'll have to go to my profile…but anyway. **

**"Dip it low, pick it up slow, roll it all around…" Dip It Low, by Christina Milian…awesome song, I'm telling you.**

**And to whomever commented on how Jump's name should be changed (sorry, I forgot who it was): if his name was changed to Jump, the Bitch then people would think he was a girl, since bitch is the term for a female dog. Jump-the-Bitch has two meanings: he jumps dog-bitches (meaning he does the forbidden activity) or he jumps people-bitches (meaning he attacks people). **

-----

The first-aid kit patched Joren up quite nicely, but Keladry was still not satisfied. Blood could ooze through the bandages, however thick they were. And what if an artery had been slashed? The worries were needless, and she knew that, but she had to think of anything to get her mind off earlier, when Joren had looked at her like that. She shivered just thinking about it, then scolded herself_. It's not like he matters_, she thought_. He's just a bodyguard. A really, really hot bodyguard. No! Bad Kel…_

"Hurry up with the coffee, Mindelan!" said-bodyguard called from the couch in the living room, where Queenscove had ordered him to rest for a bit._ Gods, send me an angel_.

She bit back a retort. Joren had saved her life, and Neal's if one thought about it, so she decided to be cordial to him. Or, at least, politer than he was being to her.

"Yes, Master," she called, her features schooled to blandness. "Coming, Master."

"Master my arse," Neal muttered darkly, stomping by with a platter of half-eaten cookies settled neatly in his arms. "If I hear one more demand I'm going to – "

"Queenscove! Where's my _Sports Illustrated_?"

The platter crashed to the floor with a clatter. Neal's arms were still in the position they had been. His right eye twitched dangerously. Before Kel could stop him, he had darted back in the living room.

"Queenscove, what're you doing –"

"SUFFOCATING YOU!"

Kel blinked, then followed calmly in her roommate's wake, eyebrows disappearing under her bangs. Neal had a pillow over Joren's face and he was pressing down with alarming pressure. Joren himself was yelling – although it was rather muffled – behind the confines of the pillow, and his limbs were flailing dramatically. Her lips twitched. If he truly wanted to, he could kill Neal.

She snorted, shaking her head and glancing out the window – or what was left of it. In place of the shattered glass they had hammered a strong cloth over the empty space. She called the carpenter, one of her old friends, Seaver Tasride, and he told her he would get to her in a couple days.

After a little bit more of this childish activity, Kel clapped her hands together. "Okay," she called to them, "enough. Neal, you need to finish your lunch."

"But I ate all of it," he protested, pausing in his task.

"Not your vegetables," she pointed out sweetly.

"Damn," he grumbled.

Joren snickered, and Kel rounded on him.

"As for you –"

"You're in for it," Neal told him sympathetically, scuttling into the kitchen when a death glare was sent his way.

"You did not eat a single bite of your broccoli," she continued.

Joren stared at her. No other woman had ever stood up to him like that, and here she was, trying to boss him around. Hell, he admitted to himself as he took the plate of cooling broccoli, she _was_ bossing him around.

"It's good for you," she snapped when he paused. "And it heals injuries."

"Actually –"

"Shut up, Neal."

"Yes ma'am."

-----

"Oh, yeah! I told you the Knights would win!"

"I thought for sure the Ocean Spikes would…"

"Yeah, well you thought wrong! So ha!"

"Shut up, Queenscove."

"Oh, you're just mad because I was able to slip my broccoli to Jump without Kel seeing me!"

"Excuse me?"

"Oh…heh…hi, Kel…didn't see you standing there…"

"You have some explaining to do."

"I know."

-----

"Hey, Joren?"

"What, Mindelan."

"If a rabid squirrel attacked me, would you protect me?"

"…"

"Kel…what kind of question is that?"

"It says here there are rabid squirrels lose in the park. They were some kind of experiment."

"Mindelan, if a rabid squirrel attacked you, I'd die laughing."

-----

"Kel?"

"What, Neal?"

"You know that bird that's always flying into the window?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I think he's dead."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because he's not moving."

"Queenscove, don't stick your head out the window. Something's bound to shit on you."

"Okay, okay…"

-----

"Neal, for the seventh time, get your head out the window."

"But the bird…"

"It's dead, Neal."

"I know, but – OW! HOLY FUCKIN SHIT! THAT BIRD ISN'T DEAD AFTER ALL! IT JUST FUCKIN BIT ME!"

"Hey, Queenscove…"

"What?!"

"That looks more like a squirrel than a bird."

"…So?"

"Well…there _are_ rabid squirrels about…"

"OH MY GOD!"

-----

It took a while to finally convince Neal the creature that bit him was just the neighbor's hairless dog. When the phone rang, Kel abandoned her "dying" friend and snatched it from its cradle.

"Hello?"

"…"

Kel frowned, and repeated herself, more persistently. "Hello?"

"…"

"Is anybody there?"

Joren snapped his head up, then jogged toward her, placing his ear near hers so he could hear.

"Hello?"

"My love…"

A tremor shook through her voice. "Who is this?"

A deep chuckle. "I've been wanting to talk with you for a while…"

"_Who is this_?"

"Oh, if only I could tell you. Listen carefully, my lady Keladry. Are you listening?"

"Yes."

Her voice was calm and controlled. Joren admired her strength.

"Get rid of your new boyfriend. He's trash. He will hurt you."

"I see."

"This is not a laughing matter, my darling. I'm the only one you need. Let me warn you, though. If you fail to accomplish this simple task, I will execute you as well as him. You will be dead by next week."

Kel slammed the phone down. The only action that betrayed her emotions was the trembling in her hands. Neal was bolt up in bed, mouth set in a grim line.

"Him again?"

She nodded silently. _Gods help me_, Kel thought, glancing at Joren._ I asked for an angel and I got a devil_.    


	10. The Dancing Dove

**My apologies for taking so blasted long. I was short on inspiration. Anyways, this chapter is dedicated to Poe Parcheezie and Macy Carmaire, for getting me off my lazy butt. This one's for you guys!**

----

_I hate Goldenpeak, I hate Goldenpeak…_

"Tell me again _why_ we are doing this?"

Joren sighed and glanced down at Keladry. He had to admit (to himself only, of course) she looked attractive tonight. Well, not so much attractive as elegant, refined. Her hair had been done up into some stylish hairstyle she had concocted, including curling her hair and then pinning it up, and it looked very good on her, and she had added a smidgeon of eyeliner and mascara. She had put on a little bit of foundation to hide her old acne scars. A string of genuine pearls encircled her long, graceful neck. She wore a shimmering black dress that hugged her body loosely. Most would have called it gaudy on anyone else; it suited Keladry Mindelan perfectly.

"For the thousandth time, my commanding officer told – no, ordered me to go out with you. He wanted for as many people to see us together, strangers or friends."

"I won't argue," she sighed. "As long as you're paying."

Joren twitched.

"I'm glad Neal didn't go with us," she continued, her tone conversational. "He would be running up to people asking some kind of stupid, disturbing questions."

"I figured him for that type of guy."

"Reservations?" the maître d' asked, flashing a brilliant white smile at them.

_Mithros, did he _dye_ those goddamn things? My eyes! They burn_! GAH!

"Stone," Joren replied politely. _Damn bum. You're gonna poke an eye out with those things_.

"Right over there, sir, miss," he said, pointing with his gloved fingers to a table in the corner.

"I love the Dancing Dove," Kel commented once they were seated. She smoothed her dress nervously. "It's so elegant. Cleon used to take me here all the time."

"Cleon?"

"You know, my ex."

"Oh yeah. That angry redhead twerp."

"Don't bash Cleon. He's nice. A little stingy – he is a lawyer after all – but we're still friends."

"He didn't look too happy to me on the elevator," Joren ventured, smiling stiffly at the waiter as he brought them menus.

"Ah, Cleon's funny that way. It's okay for him to date chicks – but so help him if he catches wind that I've even talked to another guy," Kel said, opening the menu. "Great gods, I forgot how expensive all this is."

"Order what you want, I got the money."

"Don't sound so modest," she muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

"I won't."

"What would you like to drink?" the waiter asked. His nametag read Esmond.

"Champagne for both of us," Joren ordered curtly. "The best in the house."

The waiter bowed. "As he wishes." His gaze flicked to Kel before he turned, only to wheel back around again. "Keladry?"

Kel blinked, confused, then her face broke out in a wide smile as she shot up, her eyes dancing. "Esmond, gods, is it really you?"

"I haven't seen you in ages," the man said, hugging her tightly, and she replied in kind. "It's been what, four years?"

"More like ten," she said brightly. For some reason, Joren felt a little put out by all the attention she gave him. Was he or was he not her boyfriend? He stood up and Esmond turned to him, his face polite.

"I'm Joren Stone," he said coolly, holding out a hand. "Her boyfriend."

"Esmond Nicoline," the waiter said, his gaze never really leaving Kel's face. Was he caught up in the moment of reunion with an old friend or was he aghast at her loveliness? Joren didn't like either one. Most people called it narcissistic, but as long as he was in the picture, he was to come first before any of her priorities, or at least tied wit her own. That meant coming before Neal's, and Cleon's, and especially Esmond's.

"Haven't you some place to go?" Joren said, ever the aloof patron. "Like the kitchens?"

_Now_ Esmond looked at him, his eyes glaring, taking deep offense at that little snub in his status. He drew himself up importantly. "I, _sir_," he sneered, "do _not_ belong in the kitchens. I am a waiter, just short of becoming maître d', and as such I demand respect – "

"Dude, come off it," the handsome blond said impatiently. "You won't even be blessed with working in the kitchens if you don't hustle – I see your boss glaring at you."

Blanching visibly, Esmond scuttled off, not even glancing around for his boss. Joren told a half-truth – there was someone glaring at them, it just wasn't Boss. It was Cleon, looking sharp in a black tux, wining and dining a small-waisted busty blond dressed to kill in a short miniskirt and a dressy silk shirt. Kel didn't turn around, but glared at Joren as she slowly sat back down.

"What was that about?" she snapped, furious. Joren was not even listening. He was focused instead on Cleon, who excused himself from his date and was making his way toward them. He was barely aware of the other man coming toward them – a man slightly taller than average, with middle-aged features, including almost no hair.

Just as both stopped at the table, the lights went out.

Joren did not hesitate. He leaped to his feet and swung around the table to grab for Keladry, and would have made it too, except someone large blocked his way, and they both crashed against the table to the ground, sending the table and chairs toppling over with a racket rivaling that of an earthquake. He heard a squeal of indignation, knew intuitively that it was Kel, and was fighting, snarling to extricate himself from whoever was on top of him, but realized it was to no avail. The large person entangled with him was doing the same thing, and all they managed to do was slip and jumble each other more.

The light's switched back on.

Joren took inventory.

It was Cleon intertwined with his legs, scowling at him with just as much zest as that of a preacher for his faith.

Keladry was not in her seat, but her purse was.

The middle-aged man who had been skulking amiably toward them was nowhere to be seen.

And Joren, with his heart sinking rapidly into something akin to anxiety and frustration and perhaps a little fear, realized that he failed his mission.

"_Godsdamn it!_" he shrieked.

No one made a fool of him. No one stole a client literally right beneath his nose. No one made a mess out of one of _his_ missions.

_No one_.


End file.
